A misty dawn chorus 

It’s early on Friday morning, stella and I are walking the trees are a cacophony of sound, rabbits scatter their warning, Dog on the prowl. 

In the distance I hear a foxes scream like call. 

There’s little brown left in the hedges and verges as summer has it’s hold, the winter is banished. 

Yellows, greens, white and blue, butttercuos I’ve not seen for a long time. 

Graffiti can be a beautiful thing but this is no Banksy. 

As another arborial canopy approached, so the cacophony increases again.

A new sound, a cuckoo without a doubt, unless I’m mistaken a thief, not of shiny things like the magpie, but of other nests. 

Either there are some big beavers around or somebody cannot afford the fuel to go to the tip although it can t be bad for the environment. 

The thing I find strange is there is plenty of volume but seeing the culprits is amazingly difficult even though you know they are only metres away 

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